Hello everyone and a Happy New Year to you all. Here's hoping 2010 brings you prosperity and good fortune... and that you avoid the mishaps that we have encountered over the New Year period.
Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin. Once upon a time, in a land far far away, where the sun always shines, and the sea is made of liquid emeralds, and Donner kebabs graze the rich green pastures, and CDs (made by 1990's pop/indie bands) grow on trees, there lived a handsome, well hung (I will get to this part of the story later), mature (okay balding... just leave it will you) man named Davo (also to be explained later - yes, I'm afraid it's going to be a long one... you might want to go and grab a coffee, or something stronger).
WARNING: The following part of this story involves scenes of extreme gore and are only suitable for a mature audience.
Twas the last day of the year, and the clock had only recently passed the hour of six in the evening, meaning that absolutely no alcohol had been consumed at the time of the incident (not even a small sherry). So, the story is that I had a fight with a camp bed (it wasn't even a macho bed... camp bed, 'camp' - oh forget it) and the camp bed won. Using the element of surprise, the bed cunningly pretended that it's spring loaded leg was in place and then just when my guard was down hurled it at my head - opening up a sizable wound just above my right eyebrow. As most of you know, Wendy doesn't do blood - indeed, the mere fact that I told her not to come into the laundry room (where the incident took place), but instead should get her dad to come and help, caused her to feel faint and have to sit with her head between her knees).
Needless to say, 'Dusty' took things in hand and had me and the laundry room (it previously resembled the shower scene in psycho) cleaned up in no-time.
Part Two:
Twas the first day of the year, and the clock had only recently passed the hour of six in the evening, meaning that absolutely no alcohol... etc.
George and his friends (the hoody gang) were out on their scooters scouring the neighbourhood for 'go-cart' wheels when George failed to properly negotiate a tight bend, at speed and came a cropper. The outcome was, extensive grazing and bruising (and that was just to his ego). Luckily I was on the phone to my mother at the time (she got a running commentary of the incident), and as you all know by now... Wendy doesn't do blood so once again 'Dusty' stepped in to administer the first aid.
Today, the second day of the New Year, we are all confined to our rooms, and at six o'clock we are all going to drink plenty of alcohol.
As you may well know (no, this isn't the Wendy/blood thing) all Australians have to have a nickname. The creation of a nickname tends to be quite an easy process, in fact it's very easy for women - they are all called Sheilah. With blokes, it tends to be truncating the surname and sticking an 'o' on the end. In my case it's Davo - which, with amazing hindsight, is what my former work colleagues used to call me at the mighty Press Association (the World's leading news agency). They did have other nicknames for me as well but they really aren't worth repeating. Of course, my nickname may well change now that I have a Harry Potter scar on my forehead. I'm not sure how boys get theirs but George's is 'little tuna'. As Wendy's mum and dad are over here for a month and a half it was compulsory for us to create a nickname for John. Tuffo didn't really work, so I employed the other method for creating a nickname - waited until after 6pm then drank several sherrys, ciders, lagers and another sherry and came up with 'Dusty'. Now all I have to do is have a few more beers and then tell John what his new name is.
I mentioned last time (or maybe the time before last) that I was applying for membership to the art club. Well, not only did they let me in, they also asked me to contribute a painting to an exhibition they are staging at the Mindarie Marina Hotel. If I'm honest I think it had more to do with the fact that they were short of exhibits than that they thought my painting was any good. So I am now hanging in the foyer of the aforementioned hotel... and indeed I am very well hung (although when we all went to inspect it yesterday I was hanging slightly to the left). My painting is an old one (but let's face it no one over here has seen it before) and it's a bit surreal... but it has got boats in it - I thought it might go down well with the marina crowd. The themes explored are: the existence of a supreme being, love - unrequited and otherwise, the power of nature, and whether there is any place for the referral system in Test cricket. The exhibition is on for a month, so if you are planning on attending you may need to book in advance to avoid disappointment.
I am now off out to drink copious amounts of alcohol. Quick, call me an ambulance (Davo you're an ambulance).
Nee nah, Nee nah, Nee nah.
Please note: no camp beds were injured during the making of this blog.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
memory like a... it's round and got holes in it,
ahh yeah, that's it, a colander.
For those of you who bothered to read the last blog (according to our web-counter it's in the hundreds of thousands - aren't they brightly coloured, sugary things that you sprinkle on cakes?) you may have wondered why the title bore even less resemblance to the contents of the blog than usual. There is a very simple explanation... I forgot what I had set out to write about in the first place. In fact, scrap that, I didn't forget I simply got carried away on the flow of my excellent prose and wandered off on an entirely different track.
What I had intended to touch upon was the 'dullsville' tag that Perth has and almost revels in. As I hinted at in the last blog (the one that 'Time' magazine voted as no. 57 in the 'best reads' of the century) everything closes at 5.30pm. The State Government was recently defeated in it's attempt to extend retail opening hours until 9pm on weeknights. However, through stealth and the exploitation of a loophole, they have managed to wangle it so that some of the larger shopping malls can class themselves as tourist destinations allowing them to not only extend their opening hours in the week but also open on Sundays.
It's an odd one really, I would definitely welcome shops staying open a bit later in the week (especially specialist record shops and sports shops) but I don't miss being able to shop on a Sunday at all. It's not like the Sundays over here are akin to the ones I remember (vaguely) as a child growing up in the UK in the 1970's. They had the potential (which they often fulfilled) to be the dullest day of the week. You weren't allowed to play outside, or if you did it had to be quietly (I didn't do quiet very well as a child - unless someone asked me a direct question and then I would definitely become very reticent). I now appreciate that there was a very valid reason for this need for peace and quiet on the Sabbath... and unfortunately I don't think it came about as a mark of respect for the Lord's day, instead I suspect that it was because everyone in the neighbourhood was nursing a stinking great hangover (well all except perhaps Miss North who lived two doors up from us).
Over here there is lots to do because the weather allows you to go to the beach, the park, play in the pool (quietly)and generally live outdoors. Our house is already listed as a tourist destination so we are allowed to stay up late on weeknights, just in case anyone is interested in visiting us.
At this point I feel I should draw your attention to the fact that I have recently received some correspondence to the effect that I have some 'blogfans' in the South West of England. I'm putting this down to the fact that I spent a couple of years living in Swindon and ended up with a bit of a West Country accent. It's worn off a bit now, all the people in the UK who I have spoken to recently have all commented on my strong Aussie twang... indeed, there's not a single trace of my broad South Yorkshire accent remaining. I have to admit that it was the positive feedback that I received regarding my 'blogging' that has led to the spike in my blog missives. I know what you're thinking, who are these irresponsible people that have inadvertently inflicted more inarticulate drivel onto the world wide web. Well I'm not telling you. Les and Pat can rest assured that their secret is safe with me.
(There now follows a break of two days. Somewhere nearby the crickets fill the hot, dry night with a rhythmical chorus of chirrups. A handsome, middle aged, distinguished looking [okay balding] man enters stage left).
Talking of cricket (tenuous, I know) the match that George bowled so well in last week concluded today (most of their matches are played over two weeks). Before today, his batting stats for the season read 0,0, 0, and 0* (can anyone spot a pattern forming). However, thanks to the Ian Botham school of cricket, today he set a new PB (personal best) of 8 - he hit two fours (ala Beefy). You really don't want to know what he got up to last night... but it involved vampires. When his side bowled again they took four wickets - George got two of them. George's upturn in form has been duly noted by his team mates and coaches, one of whom asked me today if I had any theories on why George's form had improved so markedly, I said... no. Unfortunately the season now takes a break until February so John and Jenny won't get to see him play whilst they are here. They will get to see lots of the other things that we get up to though. There is an end of year assembly at school on Wednesday, Hatties dance show is next weekend (she is in rehearsal overtime at the moment), they will be able to see where Wendy works and go jogging with her, and I will be giving them a tour of the top 3 kebab shops in Perth's northern suburbs (in no particular order).
I've got to go now, I've got a date with the BBC World Service - I have a need to be welcomed (by John Murray) to a chilly ________ (fill in venue here... probably Stamford bridge). Yeovil have just scored against Norwich. I have a sneaky suspicion that all of my west country brethren will be hoping that my team (Doncaster Rovers) will be able to make it three wins in a row and overcome Bristol City this afternoon (at a chilly Keepmoat stadium).
I seem to have caught the bug again, so I might be back before Christmas. If not, have a good one and when you think of us be assured we are thinking of you (did that sound a bit trite?, I really must work on my sincere face)
You may be surprised to discover that i was listening to the Sex Pistols whilst writing (the second part of) this blog.
H
For those of you who bothered to read the last blog (according to our web-counter it's in the hundreds of thousands - aren't they brightly coloured, sugary things that you sprinkle on cakes?) you may have wondered why the title bore even less resemblance to the contents of the blog than usual. There is a very simple explanation... I forgot what I had set out to write about in the first place. In fact, scrap that, I didn't forget I simply got carried away on the flow of my excellent prose and wandered off on an entirely different track.
What I had intended to touch upon was the 'dullsville' tag that Perth has and almost revels in. As I hinted at in the last blog (the one that 'Time' magazine voted as no. 57 in the 'best reads' of the century) everything closes at 5.30pm. The State Government was recently defeated in it's attempt to extend retail opening hours until 9pm on weeknights. However, through stealth and the exploitation of a loophole, they have managed to wangle it so that some of the larger shopping malls can class themselves as tourist destinations allowing them to not only extend their opening hours in the week but also open on Sundays.
It's an odd one really, I would definitely welcome shops staying open a bit later in the week (especially specialist record shops and sports shops) but I don't miss being able to shop on a Sunday at all. It's not like the Sundays over here are akin to the ones I remember (vaguely) as a child growing up in the UK in the 1970's. They had the potential (which they often fulfilled) to be the dullest day of the week. You weren't allowed to play outside, or if you did it had to be quietly (I didn't do quiet very well as a child - unless someone asked me a direct question and then I would definitely become very reticent). I now appreciate that there was a very valid reason for this need for peace and quiet on the Sabbath... and unfortunately I don't think it came about as a mark of respect for the Lord's day, instead I suspect that it was because everyone in the neighbourhood was nursing a stinking great hangover (well all except perhaps Miss North who lived two doors up from us).
Over here there is lots to do because the weather allows you to go to the beach, the park, play in the pool (quietly)and generally live outdoors. Our house is already listed as a tourist destination so we are allowed to stay up late on weeknights, just in case anyone is interested in visiting us.
At this point I feel I should draw your attention to the fact that I have recently received some correspondence to the effect that I have some 'blogfans' in the South West of England. I'm putting this down to the fact that I spent a couple of years living in Swindon and ended up with a bit of a West Country accent. It's worn off a bit now, all the people in the UK who I have spoken to recently have all commented on my strong Aussie twang... indeed, there's not a single trace of my broad South Yorkshire accent remaining. I have to admit that it was the positive feedback that I received regarding my 'blogging' that has led to the spike in my blog missives. I know what you're thinking, who are these irresponsible people that have inadvertently inflicted more inarticulate drivel onto the world wide web. Well I'm not telling you. Les and Pat can rest assured that their secret is safe with me.
(There now follows a break of two days. Somewhere nearby the crickets fill the hot, dry night with a rhythmical chorus of chirrups. A handsome, middle aged, distinguished looking [okay balding] man enters stage left).
Talking of cricket (tenuous, I know) the match that George bowled so well in last week concluded today (most of their matches are played over two weeks). Before today, his batting stats for the season read 0,0, 0, and 0* (can anyone spot a pattern forming). However, thanks to the Ian Botham school of cricket, today he set a new PB (personal best) of 8 - he hit two fours (ala Beefy). You really don't want to know what he got up to last night... but it involved vampires. When his side bowled again they took four wickets - George got two of them. George's upturn in form has been duly noted by his team mates and coaches, one of whom asked me today if I had any theories on why George's form had improved so markedly, I said... no. Unfortunately the season now takes a break until February so John and Jenny won't get to see him play whilst they are here. They will get to see lots of the other things that we get up to though. There is an end of year assembly at school on Wednesday, Hatties dance show is next weekend (she is in rehearsal overtime at the moment), they will be able to see where Wendy works and go jogging with her, and I will be giving them a tour of the top 3 kebab shops in Perth's northern suburbs (in no particular order).
I've got to go now, I've got a date with the BBC World Service - I have a need to be welcomed (by John Murray) to a chilly ________ (fill in venue here... probably Stamford bridge). Yeovil have just scored against Norwich. I have a sneaky suspicion that all of my west country brethren will be hoping that my team (Doncaster Rovers) will be able to make it three wins in a row and overcome Bristol City this afternoon (at a chilly Keepmoat stadium).
I seem to have caught the bug again, so I might be back before Christmas. If not, have a good one and when you think of us be assured we are thinking of you (did that sound a bit trite?, I really must work on my sincere face)
You may be surprised to discover that i was listening to the Sex Pistols whilst writing (the second part of) this blog.
H
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
Welcome to Dullsville
Hello. good evening and welcome.
I have to admit that my David Frost impersonation works a whole lot better on paper (or as pixels) than in real life.
First of all let me say how wonderful you are looking today - have you done something different with your hair... yeah, it really suits you... it detracts attention from your baggy eyes and slightly green complexion... I never did learn how to pay compliments properly. It's definitely one of my biggest failings (along with my sardonic wit and being just too darn handsome).
Other things I have never quite learnt to do properly are: singing in tune, dance without giving the impression that I have just stepped in something unpleasant, work out why all the shops close at 5.30pm in Western Australia, remember all the words to the national anthem, be it the UK or Oz version. In fact I've taken to combining the two - lyrics and tune... fortunately, with national anthems singing in tune doesn't seem to be a prerequisite.
We have a fair amount of news to bring you up-to-date with.
Hattie passed her ballet exam with distinction and is busy with rehearsals for her dance show that takes place in a weeks time.
She continues to create things at an alarming rate: paintings, clothes, jewellery, something resembling a disaster zone on the floor of her bedroom. I say floor, but I've got no real evidence that there is a floor there, I just know that that was approximately where it was last time I saw it, about 3 months ago. This evening, she made a kimono (for something she is doing at the end of year assembly) using a little red riding hood cape, 4 safety pins and a pair of Val's old knickers (hey, you've got to admit that was a pretty good John Noakes impression).
George didn't make it into the elite state school but did pass some other exams that ensured he got onto the SEAC program when he goes to secondary school. If you aren't sure what SEAC is, it's similar to the PEAC course that he has been doing, only this one starts with an 'S' not a 'P' - hope that has made things a lot clearer for you. Actually, I think P stood for Primary and therefore I'm pretty sure that S stands for Secondary. I know for definite that 'EAC' stands for Egg And Cress.
He is playing crcket again this season. I have a feeling that he may be from the Ian Botham school of cricketers after last weekend's events. We had a bit of a late night on Friday having gone to see Green Day in concert, so George didn't get to bed until midnight. Then in true 'Beefy' fashion, after a night on the town, George turned in bowling figures of 3 overs, 2 maidens, 3 runs and 1 wicket. He fancies getting a few runs with the bat this weekend so he's asked if we can go to a casino followed by a visit to a go-go bar this Friday.
Wendy abandoned the dancing class half way through the last term, her last week was the one when he cancelled the class because he had to rush home when he remembered that he'd accidentally put a bowl in the plate cupboard... disaster. Subsequently, despite previously having had an aversion to it she took up jogging and now runs between 10 and 15 kms a week. It's not easy to find a time slot in which to go running because it gets pretty hot from as early as 7am and because we no longer have daylight savings (it got voted out in a referendum) it goes dark at 7.30pm (even now - just two weeks out from the longest day of the year). Apparently, the thing that motivates her to run faster is imagining me running behind her - with that certain look in my eye... she overtook Usain Bolt last week. She is taking part in a 4km road race on Sunday, fortunately it's only forecast to get up to 38 degrees so she'll have a nice cool day for it.
And what have I achieved recently. Well I've just managed to carry a cup of tea into the office without spilling any, so well done me.
Actually, I've joined an Art Club. Well I say joined, I've still got to fill out the paperwork and then they would still have to accept me in but surely with my talent (and humility) it would just be a case of rubber stamping the application. On the form it asks me for my preferred medium - I've put Doris Stoakes (okay, I admit that's a very old joke - so much so that I think Doris has been dead for about 20 years). The Art club meets once a month and I've only been to one so far and I lasted the 3 hours without being asked to leave. One lady (they are nearly all ladies of a certain age, I'm not certain but I think the age is 68) told me she'd never seen it done like that before... I believe she was talking about my abstract artwork. It was very interesting, after two hours everyone else had managed to create very recognisable watercolour versions of the photo we were working from and I was still sat sharpening my pencil and adjusting my beret (not that's not a euphemism). This month's theme is bring your own, so I'm taking a kebab and a crate of cider... maybe I should chage my preferred medium to vomit on canvas.
Talking of canvas, we have actually bought a tent and have already ventured into the wilds. Well, it wasn't exactly wild - but there wasn't a mobile phone signal and there isn't a single 'MacDonalds' within a 30km radius.
Right, I've got to go now - I have a list of chores to attend to before Wendy's mum and dad arrive on Monday. The list includes: mowing the lawns; making sure all dead lizards (and for that matter live ones) are removed from the swimming pool; all windows, doors and drainpipes are treated with barrier spray to keep the outdoor spiders outdoors; making sure there is a bowl of M&M's in John and Jenny's bedroom(they've insisted that all the red ones are removed - very Mariah Carey), and finally, find which dud fairy light is knocking out the row of 30 others in our outside eating area.
Okay, If I don't get back to you again before Christmas, I hope you have a Peaceful and Joyous festive period.
By the way, have you lost weight? Yeah, you look good - I could tell because you've only got the three chins now. I've done it again haven't I?
And now for my final impression... Jesse Owens.
H
I have to admit that my David Frost impersonation works a whole lot better on paper (or as pixels) than in real life.
First of all let me say how wonderful you are looking today - have you done something different with your hair... yeah, it really suits you... it detracts attention from your baggy eyes and slightly green complexion... I never did learn how to pay compliments properly. It's definitely one of my biggest failings (along with my sardonic wit and being just too darn handsome).
Other things I have never quite learnt to do properly are: singing in tune, dance without giving the impression that I have just stepped in something unpleasant, work out why all the shops close at 5.30pm in Western Australia, remember all the words to the national anthem, be it the UK or Oz version. In fact I've taken to combining the two - lyrics and tune... fortunately, with national anthems singing in tune doesn't seem to be a prerequisite.
We have a fair amount of news to bring you up-to-date with.
Hattie passed her ballet exam with distinction and is busy with rehearsals for her dance show that takes place in a weeks time.
She continues to create things at an alarming rate: paintings, clothes, jewellery, something resembling a disaster zone on the floor of her bedroom. I say floor, but I've got no real evidence that there is a floor there, I just know that that was approximately where it was last time I saw it, about 3 months ago. This evening, she made a kimono (for something she is doing at the end of year assembly) using a little red riding hood cape, 4 safety pins and a pair of Val's old knickers (hey, you've got to admit that was a pretty good John Noakes impression).
George didn't make it into the elite state school but did pass some other exams that ensured he got onto the SEAC program when he goes to secondary school. If you aren't sure what SEAC is, it's similar to the PEAC course that he has been doing, only this one starts with an 'S' not a 'P' - hope that has made things a lot clearer for you. Actually, I think P stood for Primary and therefore I'm pretty sure that S stands for Secondary. I know for definite that 'EAC' stands for Egg And Cress.
He is playing crcket again this season. I have a feeling that he may be from the Ian Botham school of cricketers after last weekend's events. We had a bit of a late night on Friday having gone to see Green Day in concert, so George didn't get to bed until midnight. Then in true 'Beefy' fashion, after a night on the town, George turned in bowling figures of 3 overs, 2 maidens, 3 runs and 1 wicket. He fancies getting a few runs with the bat this weekend so he's asked if we can go to a casino followed by a visit to a go-go bar this Friday.
Wendy abandoned the dancing class half way through the last term, her last week was the one when he cancelled the class because he had to rush home when he remembered that he'd accidentally put a bowl in the plate cupboard... disaster. Subsequently, despite previously having had an aversion to it she took up jogging and now runs between 10 and 15 kms a week. It's not easy to find a time slot in which to go running because it gets pretty hot from as early as 7am and because we no longer have daylight savings (it got voted out in a referendum) it goes dark at 7.30pm (even now - just two weeks out from the longest day of the year). Apparently, the thing that motivates her to run faster is imagining me running behind her - with that certain look in my eye... she overtook Usain Bolt last week. She is taking part in a 4km road race on Sunday, fortunately it's only forecast to get up to 38 degrees so she'll have a nice cool day for it.
And what have I achieved recently. Well I've just managed to carry a cup of tea into the office without spilling any, so well done me.
Actually, I've joined an Art Club. Well I say joined, I've still got to fill out the paperwork and then they would still have to accept me in but surely with my talent (and humility) it would just be a case of rubber stamping the application. On the form it asks me for my preferred medium - I've put Doris Stoakes (okay, I admit that's a very old joke - so much so that I think Doris has been dead for about 20 years). The Art club meets once a month and I've only been to one so far and I lasted the 3 hours without being asked to leave. One lady (they are nearly all ladies of a certain age, I'm not certain but I think the age is 68) told me she'd never seen it done like that before... I believe she was talking about my abstract artwork. It was very interesting, after two hours everyone else had managed to create very recognisable watercolour versions of the photo we were working from and I was still sat sharpening my pencil and adjusting my beret (not that's not a euphemism). This month's theme is bring your own, so I'm taking a kebab and a crate of cider... maybe I should chage my preferred medium to vomit on canvas.
Talking of canvas, we have actually bought a tent and have already ventured into the wilds. Well, it wasn't exactly wild - but there wasn't a mobile phone signal and there isn't a single 'MacDonalds' within a 30km radius.
Right, I've got to go now - I have a list of chores to attend to before Wendy's mum and dad arrive on Monday. The list includes: mowing the lawns; making sure all dead lizards (and for that matter live ones) are removed from the swimming pool; all windows, doors and drainpipes are treated with barrier spray to keep the outdoor spiders outdoors; making sure there is a bowl of M&M's in John and Jenny's bedroom(they've insisted that all the red ones are removed - very Mariah Carey), and finally, find which dud fairy light is knocking out the row of 30 others in our outside eating area.
Okay, If I don't get back to you again before Christmas, I hope you have a Peaceful and Joyous festive period.
By the way, have you lost weight? Yeah, you look good - I could tell because you've only got the three chins now. I've done it again haven't I?
And now for my final impression... Jesse Owens.
H
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